


Look Straight At The Sun

by Debate



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Emotional Sex, F/M, Floor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debate/pseuds/Debate
Summary: She presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth, then his lips. Frank hasn’t moved yet, the expression on his face says he’s shocked, overwhelmed. Her fingers press against his cheek, till his eyes meet hers. The look he’s giving her is intense, like sunlight, and maybe, if she wasn’t Karen Page, she’d look away like you’re supposed to, when greeted by the strength of the sun. But she is Karen Page, so she meets his intensity, doesn’t blink or shy away.





	Look Straight At The Sun

She’s a little surprised by Frank’s genuine effort to see her on a semi-regular basis. It had taken a serious amount of convincing on her part, but he seems to have gotten it through his head that she wants to see him, so when it’s safe he starts to make it a habit to come by. 

It’s not scheduled or routine, and it isn’t particularly frequent, but it’s more than she had expected possible when she had gone without him for ten months. Usually he’ll call her in the morning, before she leaves the apartment, and they’ll make plans to get lunch at the deli a couple of blocks from where she works, make light conversation while Karen repeatedly tries and fails to get Frank to try orange soda. When the weather gets better they meet at the waterfront during the weekends, sitting on benches and remarking on the people or enjoying their silence as the world moves around them. Once she tells him about the stream that ran through the forest behind her house back in Vermont, how she’d splashed through it barefoot, even when rocks and pebbles dug into her soles, and dropped pennies into the water, just to see how it distorted Lincoln’s face. After that they start trading pennies whenever they go there, just to fling them into the river, like it’s a fountain that will carry their wishes out to sea.

Rarely, he’ll come to her place unannounced, sometime late, after she’s eaten and showered. They sit on her floor in near darkness, heads leaning back against the sofa, asking each other questions they try their best to answer. Too often it feels that such questions are left to sit in the air of her living room to be absorbed into the shadows of her apartment’s corners and crevices. But they both feel better for having asked them.

They fall asleep like that, once, on the floor, leaning against the couch. Karen awakes when the sun begins to rise, orange light striking her eyes and pooling in odd shapes on her hardwood floors. There’s a crick in her neck, and stretching it turns her to face Frank. He’s very still in his sleep, and for a moment she thinks he isn’t breathing, but then his eyelids open and he turns his head to look at her. She can’t tell if he was asleep at all.

His hand reaches across his body to gently stroke down her hair where it was no doubt mussed from the impromptu sleep. She loves the feel of his hand in her hair, on the side of her face; it’s warm and large and rough, and when his thumb traces imaginary lines across her cheekbone, it feels like the caress of a wave, sweeping away impurities. She’s enjoying it so much that she doesn’t realize that his hand is lingering on her cheek—that he hasn’t even considered withdrawing it.

Her eyes rise to meet his when she hears his heavy breathing, though. He’s so close to her she could parce out individual eyelashes, and she considers doing so, desiring to spend the time memorizing his face while he’ll still let her. But his tongue peeks out to wet his lips, and her eyes are drawn down instead. Frank recognizes this and then rises to his knees, moving towards her so their lips can press together. His movement is so natural it’s that she doesn’t consider that they’ve never done this before, it takes her a moment to recognize it for what it is.

They’re breathing into each other, his hand still stroking the side of her face, and hers snaking around his back to rest at the base of his neck. Their tongues slide together and it’s so easy, the feel of him around and against and within her.

They stay like that for a while. 

“Karen,” Frank breathes against her, his lips hovering on the skin above hers, their noses nudging. Her breaths are as deep as her eyelids are heavy. She didn’t realize before, but they’re swaying together, on their knees next to her couch, like they’re on the deck of a ship, somewhere far away.  
“Yes,” she breathes back at him, so softly that it would only be heard, now, in the predawn light. He kisses her again, deeper this time, his hand wrapping around her waist so that he can pull their bodies flush together. The planes of his chest and abdomen are thick and hot pressed up against her, and her hand squeezes his shoulder, just to feel that he’s still malleable. And he’s like candle wax, melting under the flame of her hand.

It seems impossible, they’re so close already, but he pushes into her even more, so that she’s forced to lean back, bracing herself with one hand against the floor as she slowly moves to lay on it. Frank follows her, his lips moving to ghost over her neck, pressing fluttering kisses over her pulse as he covers her. Small, breathless sighs fall from her lips as Frank descends to her collarbone, sucking gently at the hollow it makes.

She inches the wide neckline of her t-shirt up by herself, an obvious suggestion, and one she’s hoping he’ll take. He does, grabbing the shirt from behind her head, pulling it up and off with one well-calculated tug and the assistance of her arms. Her fingers run through his hair, guiding his head back to hers so that they can kiss again. It’s a heavier kiss, perhaps because of the physical weight of his body on hers—a heady sensation that he does little to relieve her of—or perhaps because the air has turned thicker, with a drowsy yet persistent anticipation.

His hand settles on her bare waist, gripping her with his wide fingers, and she feels like she’s in the hands of a blacksmith—trusting him to forge her into something unbreakable, but knowing she has to be fragile and shapeable first. Her back arches into his hand, and he only supports her more.  
His lips leave hers again to trace the shape of her jaw and she shivers as he licks the sensitive place at the top of her neck. She sighs, and grips the back of his t-shirt tight in her first.

“Frank,” she says, whisper soft, and he nods against her, his lips brushing the skin of her chest in an almost-kiss. The shirt is tight around his arms, and it takes a bit more finagling to get off than hers had, but they manage, and then she feels the heat of him against her for the first time. Really feels it. They’ve touched before, hugs and mostly innocuous brushes of hands, and he’d never felt this warm then. She savors it now.

One of his hands begins to trail up, the pressure of his fingertips light enough to be the touch of a ghost, and it makes her skin jump and sing, the muscles of her abdomen clench and release. The hand drags between her breasts, gently rubbing on the parts not covered by her bra. His breath is hot, hot, hot on her face in the moment before he kisses her, teeth scraping at her lip with no real bite.

She arches her back enough to unclasp her bra, then slides it the rest of the way off and tugs it out from between their bodies. Frank recognizes this as what she means it to be, and covers her right breast with his hand. His thumb strokes just underneath her nipple, and she gasps against his mouth as the heel of his hand drags across it. Her fingers flex against his back when grinds into her suddenly, his jean-clad erection pressing into her hip. Her legs widen and her hips shift before she even makes a choice to move, and the noise Frank makes at the corner of her mouth as she does so is absolutely wrecked. She’s a little proud of that.

He grinds into her again, but it’s slower, more practiced. His grip on her waist strengthens, grows tighter, like he needs something to steady him. Her touch moves down his back, not even stumbling over scar tissue, to rub just above the waistline of his jeans.

The third time he grinds into her she feels that seeking clench deep in her gut and kisses him a little wildly, to let him know she wants it. His right hand leaves her breast so he can brace himself on his forearm, the hand at her waist going lower to push against her pajama pants and panties. He only manages to get them to about mid thigh before his hand drifted back to her exposed center.

She doesn’t realize how wet she is till two curious fingers slick through her. She shakes a little from the feel of it, and Frank groans against her cheek. To the best of her ability, she pushes her pants off the rest of the way, till her legs are free and she can wrap one around his waist, opening herself to him further.

He looks at her like she hung the moon, fingers still slowly stroking over her, and her heart clenches in a way that has nothing to do with arousal. And its important, it’s really important, the way he makes her feel, and the way she knows she makes him feel. But in this moment, when his finger dips into her, making her blood thrum even though it’s just to the first knuckle, that can wait to be discussed later. Because as much as she cherishes words, this physicality with Frank is equally important.

Her hand reaches up to hold his face as his finger pushes further into her. She strokes nonsense patterns on his cheek like he did on hers earlier.

“Frank,” she says, whisper soft, and his fingers leave her body. She exhales, squirming a bit at the loss, but Frank’s hand is working at getting his jeans off, so she doesn’t even think to complain. It would be easier if he sat up to do it, but they’d both be disheartened if they lost contact with one another, so Frank struggles out of them with one hand, quite successfully considering.

Then they’re naked together for the first time, and Karen can’t fully make him out in the half-light, but she can feel all of him, the lengths of their bodies pressed against each other. She trembles, slightly.

“Hey, Kar-Karen,” he says hot against her ear. She swallows, closes her eyes, or else she’ll be overwhelmed, and she cries around Frank enough as it is. She reaches down to where he’s hard against her thigh, and wraps her hand around him, stroking up once, twice. The forearm he’s bracing himself on shakes, and he mutters something, presumably blasphemous, into her hair.

She doesn’t wait anymore after that, guiding him to her entrance. The first thrust aches, she can’t even remember when she last had sex, but even that ache brings flickerings of pleasure, so she breathes into it, relaxes.

Frank kisses her, a little sloppy but very heartfelt and she clings to him, unashamed as a moan escapes her mouth. He’s rocking into her faster now and her hips rise up to meet his, circling in a quest for just a bit more friction. She finds it unexpectedly, and chokes out a breath. Repeating the motion results in the same zing of pleasure expanding from her clit. She grips Frank’s shoulder, and he settles into this new pace with her, his eyes scrunched up with pleasure.

Her orgasm isn’t earth-shattering, but it is sudden, expanding through her body and leaving her trembling. Frank watches, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He still, too, but she doesn’t notice that until he starts moving again. He comes with a few more thrusts and a stutter-step of his hips.

She presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth, then his lips. Frank hasn’t moved yet, the expression on his face says he’s shocked, overwhelmed. Her fingers press against his cheek, till his eyes meet hers. The look he’s giving her is intense, like sunlight, and maybe, if she wasn’t Karen Page, she’d look away like you’re supposed to, when greeted by the strength of the sun. But she is Karen Page, so she meets his intensity, doesn’t blink or shy away.

He nods, lips cracking into a small smile that Karen can’t help but mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, they get more and more intimate every time they end up on the floor together, this was inevitable, okay, and I had to write it. Please tell me what you think!


End file.
